


Save me from myself

by msarahv



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Almost Drowning, David is anxious, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28733046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msarahv/pseuds/msarahv
Summary: David looked at the sea in contempt.Here it was, wide and infinite, shining in the sun and so very calm when he was decidedly not.He looked at the seagulls, shrieking their hatred to the skies and agreed.Life sucked.CW : depression/ suicidal thoughts
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	Save me from myself

**Author's Note:**

> A little one-shot to get my writing groove back and go back to my WIPs. Enjoy!

David looked at the sea in contempt.

Here it was, wide and infinite, shining in the sun and so very calm when he was decidedly not.

He looked at the seagulls, shrieking their hatred to the skies and agreed.

Life sucked.

Moira entered his room, regal.

“David, my firstborn! How delighting to see you out of bed. This is very encouraging.”

David sighed. His mother tried, she actually did, but it was so far from enough.

He hiccuped, then ran to the bathroom, just in time.

While he recuperated, hair sticking disgustingly on his forehead, eyes glazed, nose invaded by the pungent smell, he heard the doctor come inside the main room:

“Hello Mrs Rose, it is a pleasure to see you.”

The voice indeed sounded happy. David harbored the deep suspicion that his doctor was a Sunrise Bay fan. It lessened his faith in his abilities just a tiny bit.

He heard bits and pieces of the conversation, especially when his mother's voice raised to another level:

“… with the vomiting and the paleness. It can't just be in his head!”

\- Anxiety can have very real effects on a person, especially when combined with stress. May I ask if your son has had business setbacks?”

\- Of course not! His father and I are behind him and will never let things deteriorate. He means a great deal to us, you know.”

And that was one of the very few upsides of David being sick. His mother had told him, and most importantly _showed_ him that he was important to her. She even had turned down an important social event to stay there with him, in this luxurious but remote clinic.

David wanted to be grateful, but this only served in strengthening the knot of despair in his diaphragm that threatened to asphyxiate him.

He cleaned his face and put on a whiff of perfume because he was still David Rose and he would look and smell _wonderful_ , even when his insides felt like collapsing.

Moira had the same philosophy, of course, looking ravishing in her boating attire. She even adorned a pompom on her hat which should have been ridiculous, but never on her.

She started fussing, loudly and so over the top that David fled downstairs.

He selected a lounge chair on the balcony and lay there under the anonymity of his designer sunglasses, warming his trembling body in the winter sun. The beach below was deserted but for a lonely silhouette...

For a moment, David was distracted from his wretchedness and peeked at the top of the glasses. The man walking just at the start of the water was shapely and graceful. It seemed he was laughing and David envied him. He was tempted to walk there and meet him but he knew his legs would not cooperate that far. He had lost almost all of the little food he managed to stomach and dreaded the moment when the doctors would use a feeding tube on him. What was wrong with him? Food was one of his greatest pleasures in life, along with sex.

He was all alone again. Alone with a brain that wouldn't stop. Telling him he was too much anyway, too demanding, too much. No one wanted him, not really. All his parent's money wasn't enough to hide his inadequacies. Sooner or later, people left. Because he sucked.

The tears were threatening again. He never let them out but he feared them. He walked inside.

The reception desk had been empty before but there was someone new. Her name-tag read “Stevie”. She had long, desolate hair, black as a crow and looked at David with barely-disguised curiosity.

She even said:

“Wow, you look like hell!”

And while she shut her mouth quickly, it was still too late. David could have her fired. That was one of his powers but he didn't like it. Among the personnel, she was the first to speak frankly, to talk to him like he was something else than a paycheck. He liked that.

They spent the day talking. The clinic was almost empty and the few other patients bed-bound. The cavernous dinner hall was theirs. David ate a lot, threw up even more but he felt a little better.

The next morning, his usual nurse wasn't there. Instead, the head nurse came. He'd never met her. Her name,was Jocelyn. She was nice but busy and efficient. As she was about to leave, Moira came in.

“How is my scion? Are you taking good care of him?”

Jocelyn took the time to talk to her. David marveled. He also took the opportunity to leave. Stevie had an off day. She greeted him on the pier with a bottle of wine.

In a sense it was easier, he just had to turn to vomit and the sea smelled so salty it wasn't too nauseating.

“Why do you throw up all the time, David?

\- Your very expensive doctor cannot tell, so how should I know?

\- He's not _my_ doctor. I've never seen him. But he must have said _something_ at least?”

David felt the bile rise. He talked through it. Told Stevie how broken he was, how anxious. And it wasn't as if it had no grounds either. The proof was constant, with no respite. Everyone he knew despised him and used him.

“Well, that makes _them_ dicks. Maybe you need to find new friends.

\- Like you?

\- Hard to say. I'm kind of a dick too.”

They laughed. So hard he took a step back. And fell into the sea.

He went under immediately. His head almost cracked against a rock. Every movement was hard. Maybe he should let go. He wasn't worth living, wasn't he?

But his body yearned. Even his stupid brain fought for survival. He surfaced, exhausted. The waves crashed, surrounding him. He couldn't do it, not alone.

He had no memories after that, at least for a little while.

Then, strong arms were supporting him. He was struggling to breathe, mouth full of water. Someone was pushing on his chest. He felt the dry sand under him. He coughed the ocean away.

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw a beautiful face. A wonderful smile. His freezing chest was warmed for a few seconds by the way the unknown man was looking at him.

He murmured:

“My hero...”

And sank back into unconsciousness.

He woke up again at the clinic. This time the face he was greeted with was Jocelyn's, which was a downside. On the other hand, she had drugs. Just before falling asleep, he heard talks about the alcohol content in his blood. They sounded worried. He was too, because now he was curious. He needed to see someone again. He didn't know why anymore but it was important.

Stevie was at his bedside when he was finally better. His mother was not. She had left a voicemail about being needed in Hollywood and her duties and other bullshit. His father called too. His sister was nowhere to be found, like always and David selfishly kept his worrying energy directed to himself and his recovery. He had caught a cold in the cold water and the doctor didn't like it. David's body was worn out, weakened. He had to stay in bed and take it easy. It felt like a prison.

So of course he talked to Stevie, being very careful not to ask about the beautiful man he could remember saving him. She didn't mention him and he wondered if it had been a feverish dream.

The next day, Stevie came into the room with a glint in her eyes, a smirk, and a bouquet of flowers that looked garish, flashy and cheap. There was a card attached.

“Hope you are feeling better. I'm happy I was there when you fell and could help you. If you feel like giving me a call? Patrick Brewer.”

David waited until Stevie got bored of his studied indifference to the offering and walked out. Then he reached for his phone and sent a text:

“Hello, this is David Rose, I'm the one you saved from drowning. Can I thank you in person?”

The answer came instantly, as if the man was waiting for it. David hoped he did. He also hoped his memories were not distorted and he looked as good as he had that day.

He did.

David had insisted on at least being seated in an armchair and when he was denied forced Stevie's hand in helping him by various blackmail (he had kept mum about her being his drinking companion the other day and did not intent to tell her bosses, but she didn't know that). When Patrick came in, he was glad he was sitting down.

He had warm eyes, that hadn't change. The cropped hair, blue buttoned-down and middle-range jeans, no matter how hard they tried, could not tone down his beauty. David was a goner.

He got his hopes up for five minutes until Patrick explained his presence in this deserted-for-the-winter seaside little town. He had just broken up with his fiancée. He used feminine pronouns at that. David cursed his heart.

Yet Patrick stayed. He asked questions, was interested in the answers in a way that didn't sound just polite and David accepted the offered friendship because, somehow, he felt much much better than before the accident. In fact he felt seen and accepted by both Patrick and Stevie, like he never had before he came here.

Patrick came back. Again and again. Maybe he wanted to see Stevie again. David asked her and she laughed for ten minutes straight.

“So, you were pretending not to care! You are into him.

\- And if I was, what difference would it make? He's straight.

\- Is he though?

\- Yes.

\- But is he?

\- Again yes.

\- Are you sure? He told you?”

David turned in his bed so that she would see she was dismissed. He heard her laugh at his battered heart, like a cruel goddess.

She remained his friend and even helped him outside, when he was allowed. He enjoyed the freedom with abandon, stretching his arms and breathing in the sea air until he heard a cough.

It was Patrick. He was as attractive as ever but he looked shy. He was stuttering and at first David didn't get it.

He was asking him for a dinner out.

It suddenly struck David he wasn't throwing up anymore. He was still anxious but in Patrick's company, it wasn't as strong a feeling. He smiled his acceptance. Patrick was beaming.

They ate at a fish place and walked on the pier to see the sunset. The sky was so colorful, it felt garish and cheap. David didn't mind. Patrick was looking at the waves and sighed:

“That's where we met. Sort of. I saw you fall and didn't think before jumping.

\- That's because you're a good person.

\- Am I?” He was smirking but his voice was still wavering. It had all night.

\- I mean you're like a scout. Always ready to help and nice and...

\- And...?”

David gulped. He wanted to say something else, about Patrick's haunting beauty, but who was to say the guy wasn't a homophobe? He didn't know him well.

“I think you're a good person too, David. And you're witty and charming.

\- Oh...” David breathed a little faster.

He turned and stared at Patrick who took a step further.

They kissed under the last rays of the setting sun.


End file.
